


Coming Full Circle

by The Auld Triangle (Sir_Thopas)



Category: Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age II
Genre: Gen, Mages and Templars, Post-Dragon Age II, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Rebuilding, Religious Conflict, Sexism, The Chantry
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-10-21
Updated: 2014-10-23
Packaged: 2018-02-22 02:22:57
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,011
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2490956
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sir_Thopas/pseuds/The%20Auld%20Triangle
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The battle with Meredith is over. While Hawke flees to escape the oncoming wrath of the Templars, Sebastian stays behind to salvage what is left of his home. As war brews around him, Sebastian manages to rebuild Kirkwall's Chantry. He is determined that it shall learn the lessons from the mistakes it made in the past. It is the only thing he is sure of when plagued by his own doubts and questions of faith. This earns him nothing but trouble, however. The Red Templars see him as a traitor, and the Divine looks at him as a man who does not know his place. Men are not meant to lead in the Chantry - it goes against centuries of tradition - and yet that is exactly what Sebastian finds himself doing.</p><p>From Dragon Age Kink Meme.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Sebastian breathed deep and put one foot in front of the other, careful of the strewn rubble and broken glass and bits of bone that littered the ground. Falling ash clung to his cheeks and eyelashes. He tried to wipe it away, but it smeared, turning his face black. He didn’t know what he was doing. It had been easy in those first few hours, when his thoughts were consumed with survival and revenge. But Anders was dead and so was Orsino and Meredith and Elthina. What now? He couldn’t think. His head felt heavy and there was a buzzing in his ears that wouldn’t stop. He pushed forward, to what remained of the Chantry. He didn’t know what else to do.

A high-pitched wailing managed to break through the buzzing; it sounded muffled, as though he was hearing everything from underwater. Sebastian looked around, trying to pinpoint the sound. It was hard to see through the black smoke that swirled around him, but then he spotted her. An elven woman sitting on the ground, clutching what was left of her mangled arm. She squatted in a pool of her own blood, howling her pain to the sky and _nobody was helping her_. People were scrambling over rocks, calling out names, running right past her as though they didn’t even see her. Why wasn’t anybody doing anything? With a sudden jolt, Sebastian realized that there was probably very little anybody could do. Most healers were mages. Many were dead, struck down by Templar swords, but a few had managed to escape with the help of Hawke. And himself, Sebastian supposed. Either way, any healer was beyond his reach now.

Still, he had to do something. He was a Brother; that is what the Chantry did, they helped people.

Sebastian stumbled towards her, unbuckling his belt as he did so. _Tourniquet_ , a voice in his head whispered. A voice that sounded suspiciously liked Anders. Sebastian quickly pushed those thoughts out of his head before the churning black bile that threatened to overtake him could rise up. He knelt next to the elf and started to gently examine the mangled limb, whispering words that he hoped would soothe her. She thrashed for a few seconds, half-wild and out of her mind with pain, before slumping against his side, unconscious. He gently laid her down and looked at the wound. Her arm was barely hanging on at the elbow by mere strands of skin and sinew. Sebastian quickly set to work tightening his belt around the stump in an desperate attempt to stop the flow blood. He couldn’t help but stare down at the tarnished face of Andraste as he pulled on the leather strap.

"Brother Sebastian! Brother Sebastian!"

Sebastian looked up from his work to see a young initiate running towards him. She looked familiar to him, but he could not place her. The Kirkwall Chantry was the largest in the Free Marches and boasted nearly fifty initiates at any given time. Once he would have been able to name all of the students studying at the Chantry, but these past few years he had been absent- both in body and in soul. There was always some new adventure with Hawke, some exciting expedition that tore him away from his duties. He felt a sharp pang of guilt lance through him. He should have been here. He should not have abandoned his Brothers and Sisters. It wasn’t fair that he was the one that survived. Not when it had been his own damned vices that had spared him. There were others far more deserving.

The girl came to a stop before him. He could see dried blood caking her white linen robes and alarm ran through him. “Are you injured?” He demanded.

She shook her head. “It is not mine,” she replied, her words colored by the soft lilt of an Orlesian accent. “You must come with me. There is a boy trapped underneath the rubble. I cannot get him out.”

For a second, Sebastian hesitated. He did not want to leave the elf he had been tending to, and no one else was willing to help. The girl seemed to realize what he was thinking, for she shook her head again. “There is nothing else you can do here. Come! You must hurry.”

Sebastian allowed himself to be pulled up by her small hands and followed her across the sea of broken bricks that had once made up the Kirkwall Chantry. She led him to a building that had been almost completely decimated from the blast; only a single wall remained intact. Sebastian breathed in sharply at the sight, surprised that he hadn’t recognized it at first. It was the Monastery, where the Brothers were housed. He had slept and lived and ate here for nearly fifteen years. This was his home. Sebastian felt his way along the blackened, soot-covered wall as he stumbled across the glass and stone. He glanced at where a window used to be, now nothing more than a hole in the wall. How often had he looked out this very same window? He had been able to see the entire courtyard from this spot, and season after season he would watch the leaves change colors and the flowers bloom and snow fall onto the ground. The tree that once stood proud in the middle of the courtyard was still there, upturned with its gnarled roots shooting straight into the sky like monstrous fingers.

"Here!"

Sebastian got onto his knees and peeked into the little hole the girl was pointing at. He saw a pair of wide, frightened eyes staring back at him. “Hold on, we’re going to get you out of there,” he promised. He nodded to one end of a chipped slab of stone. “Get that end, we’ll see if we can’t make the hole big enough for him to squeeze out.” The girl nodded and together the two began to clear away the rubble. It took nearly two hours of hard drudgery before Sebastian was able to yank him out. By this time, he had been awake for nearly 48 hours straight with no chance to rest or simply sit and think. The early morning light had begun to take on an ethereal quality, making it hard to focus on the child in front of him. He was no older than ten, not yet old enough to take vows and become an initiate. Bruises and cuts littered his little body, but other than a broken ankle he seemed no worse for wear. He was surprised at how quiet the lad was; he had expected him to cry and wail, like any other child, but he said nothing. "Here, climb on my back," Sebastian said as he knelt down to let the boy scramble up. “I’ll carry you someplace safe.”

The three of them moved slowly through what was left of Hightown, with the young Sister leading the way. Sebastian stared at his feet. It took all of his concentration to put one foot in front of the other. It wouldn’t do to collapse now. The boy would be crushed underneath his armor, an ironic end after having just been rescued from underneath a building.

The girl came a sudden stop, almost causing Sebastian to bump into her. Sebastian looked, wondering at what could have grabbed her attention, and saw the elf he had tried to help lying on the ground where he had left her. Her face had taken on the white, waxy appearance of a corpse and he knew she was dead. His belt had been ripped from her arm. That black, inky rage that had been boiling underneath his skin since Anders had proclaimed there would be no peace returned full force at the realization that some thief had let a woman bleed to death just to earn a bit of coin.

"What now?" The girl asked, turning to him for answers.

Sebastian gave her a wan smile that he hoped was reassuring. “The Maker provides,” he said simply. Pretty, empty words to comfort the damned.


	2. Chapter 2

For a moment, he could do nothing but stand there and stare at the parchment. Sebastian easily recognized Anders's hasty scrawl. He had been forced to read that droll rant that the mage had called a manifesto often enough to identify the cramped letters that he now  found himself looking at.  _ Sebastian_, it said.  _ Take what you need_. He had left it lying on a crate filled with health poultices and bandages and elfroot. Sebastian felt his hands shaking with the urge to throw the whole lot of it against the wall. Anders was not allowed to do this. He couldn't just willfully destroy so many lives and then offer up a potion as though that could make up for it. And he didn't to call him by name, like he knew Sebastian. Like he knew he would stay. Sebastian wanted to smash the bottles, and scream and rage and let loose that thick, black anger that was clawing at his throat. He wanted-

"What is this place? How did you know about it?" Sister Ismay wondered aloud as she entered the old  Darktown clinic through Hawke's secret cellar door.

Sebastian took a deep breath and tried to calm his thundering heart. "Help me take these supplies upstairs," he said, instead of answering her.

He was grateful that she didn't press the issue, just nodded and began filling her arms with everything she could carry. Together they made their way back up into Hawke's  Hightown estate. Sebastian had transformed that sprawling manor into a place of refuge for the wounded and dying . He didn't think Hawke would mind, wherever he was now. They passed rows of bodies that the Templars had stacked up against the wall, with more being added every minute. Sebastian avoided their gazes as he passed; the tension was thick with uncertainty. He had killed his fair share of Templars in that final battle, before the Knight Captain had managed to sway them against Meredith. There was a tentative truce between them for the moment, partly because Sebastian  _ was _ a Brother and partly because there were far more important things to worry about than revenge. But how long this alliance would last was anyone's guess. Sebastian knew from experience that he would not have been so forgiving if it had been his friends that had been struck down in the fight.

Sebastian sat the crate on a table in the kitchen, near where one of the Tranquil was tending to Wilf's broken ankle. The Tranquil had arrived when the Templars did. They alone had been spared Meredith's wrath.  "Sister, why don't you go upstairs and wash up?" Sebastian suggested as he began to unpack the crate's contents, adding them to the items that the Tranquil had brought with them. "I don't think Hawke threw away any of his mother's old things, you might be able to find something that will fit. We'll have to throw out your robes; I don't think they're salvageable." Sister  Ismay dropped her bundle of herbs and nearly ran up the stairs, shooting him a grateful smile as she went. "Elsa, could you distribute these to the wounded for me?" He asked, turning towards the Tranquil woman where she was bent over her little work-station. The kitchen was heady with the bitter, antiseptic smell of  elfroot . What was left of the  Formari had immediately went to work brewing more potions the moment they had entered Hawke's home. There never seemed to be enough.   


Elsa paused in her chopping, setting her knife down next to the herbs she had been preparing. "Of course, Brother Sebastian," she said in that quiet, even tone.

"Use the health potions on those who have a chance; it won't help with the pain, but at least they'll start healing. Save the sedatives for those you think won't make it."

"It would be more economical to use all of our resources on the ones who can survive," Elsa pointed out.

"No, I don't want them to feel any pain when they pass."

"There will know no pain at the Maker's side."

"Yes, well until then we have a duty to ease their suffering," Sebastian snapped, his patience running thin. He gripped the edge of the table, closing his eyes and breathing deeply. He needed to control his temper. He didn't want to disappoint  Elthina, as he had so often before.

"As you say, Brother Sebastian," Elsa conceded with a nod. Sebastian didn't bother replying.

A sharp rap against the door finally forced him to wrench his eyes open. The Knight Captain stood in the entryway, looking hesitant and unsure. Sebastian forced his mouth into a genial smile and beckoned him inside.

"The nobility have donated their bedsheets," the Knight Captain stated. Seeing the confused look on Sebastian's face he quickly amended, "for burial shrouds."

"That is most kind of them. We'll need to begin building a pyre soon, before the bodies start-" Sebastian cut himself off, biting his lip. It was difficult to think about these people - people he had known for  years - growing rotten with decay. He swallowed thickly and changed the subject, "Have you been able to find any sign of the Grand Cleric?"

The Knight Captain grimaced. "Nothing. She would have been at the epicenter of the blast. I don't think there would be anything left."

Sebastian nodded. Of course, he figured as much. It still felt like a knife was being twisted in his gut.

"Some of the people... " the Knight Captain continued on. "Well, they've been wondering if there's going to be any service."

"That would be the proper thing," Sebastian mumbled, more to himself than anything. It hadn't even occurred to him to conduct one. As far as anyone could tell, none of the Mothers had survived the attack. There was still hope that there were more survivors buried underneath the rubble, like Wilf, but the likelihood of that happening was passing with each hour. As it was, only a mere handful of Kirkwall's clerics were left. "Yes, tell them there will be a service tomorrow morning. Our duty to the Maker will not be interrupted for anything.  We'll have it... we can have it at the Viscount's Keep. It's mostly intact. It should do for now. "    


Cullen jerked his head, nodding and clicking his boots as though Sebastian was his superior, before pivoting swiftly on his heel and marching out. It nearly sent him into a fit of giggles. He could never make up his mind about anything, and now here he was giving orders to Templars! Oh, but the Maker had a sense of humor. Sebastian dimly wondered if he might not be hysterical.

Sister  Ismay came bounding down the stairs at that moment, taking them two at a time. She had thrown on a blouse and a pair of old trousers that must have once belonged to Hawke. They were far too large for her small frame, barely hanging on by a makeshift belt made of twine. Her hair was still a tangled mess of thick, black curls, but her face and hands had been scrubbed clean. "Sister  Ismay," Sebastian called out. "I want to thank you for all the help you've done. I could not have done any of this without you...  but I need you to do something else for me."

"What is it?"

"We're going to hold a service tomorrow morning and I need you to lead it."

She pulled back in shock. "But I can't lead it! I'm just an initiate! I'm still two years away from taking my vows as a cleric. Can't you do it? You're a confirmed Brother."

"I'm a man, Sister, I'm not allowed to conduct a service. You know this. After me, you're next in rank. An initiate has never held a service before, it's true, but it's still better than a man and after everything that's happened I think the people would prefer to have you over me. It'll be a comfort to them, listening to a woman give the sermon. Something familiar that they can cling to. I can lead the Chant, though, and Chanter  Taletha will be right beside you. She'll be able to help you if you need it."

"No, you don't understand!" Sister  Ismay protested. He could see tears springing up in the corners of her eyes. "I can't do it! I don't... When I pray, I don't feel anything," she finally admitted. "I have never felt His presence and after everything that has happened... I'm sure now that He doesn't exist. So, I can't do it. I just can't. I'd be a liar." She wiped her eyes, muttering, "I didn't even want to join the Chantry in the first place."

Sebastian looked at her, took in her crooked teeth and big eyes and long limbs. She was seventeen years old. He remembered what he had been like when he was her age. "If you don't want to stay I won't force you," Sebastian said, taking her hands in his. He tried to remember everything that  Elthina had told him all those years ago. "If the Maker has a different path for you then I won't stand in the way of that. But, I want you to know that you leading tomorrow's service... that wouldn't make you a liar. Because it isn't about you. It's about  _ them _ and what  _ they _ need. Ministering... it doesn't even really have anything to do with the Maker, to tell the truth. Your job is to comfort people, to heal wounds not of the body but of the soul. So, I am asking you to help me help them. After that, if you want to leave, I will see to it that you are safely returned to Val  Royeaux or wherever it is you want to go."

Sister  Ismay slowly nodded, pulling her hands out of his to rub her face. "Alright, I will do it."

"Thank you."


End file.
